


Remember You Belong to Me

by John_Royal



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anal Sex, Apologies, Declarations Of Love, Established Relationship, Loyalty, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Bottom, Power Dynamics, Romance, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25166380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_Royal/pseuds/John_Royal
Summary: His Royal Majesty, King George III's lover has a dire mistake to make up for.
Relationships: George III of the United Kingdom/Original Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	Remember You Belong to Me

**Author's Note:**

> Just as a little disclaimer: I'm well aware that timeline-wise this is dodgy as all Hell. However, LMM messed around with time and straight up wrote dozens of people out of existence... and it seems to have worked out alright for him, so let's just enjoy the ride.

The peculiarities of life at court are often underestimated. Not so much the lavishness of it all, people's imagination tends to run quite wild there, but much more the mundane order of things. There's an odd off-balance quality to everything, the demands of one’s station and genuine feelings intermingling in a way that would not only seem foreign to those who did not grow up with it, but downright baffling.

I remember once, as a child, overhearing a new courtier confide to her friend in the gardens: "Of course I love the King! I do so hope to meet him someday.". 

She meant it, just like we all do. God ordained us a monarch and we love him, for that is the only possible response. It is something beyond mere respect, beyond adoration, completely irrespective of whatever goes on in that other part of the heart that dictates how we love our friends and family. Unbreakable, unquestionable. I imagine it would seem quite odd to most outside the palace to have no choice but to hold such love, held firmly in place regardless of whether or not you know or even like a person. It's probably easy enough to care for your monarch as a distant abstract, but in such close proximity it could be quite a different matter.

In this, I'm far luckier than most.

When I say I love my King, it comes from my entire heart. Both that deep-seated, unquestionable place reserved for royalty and the much more mundane place from where one loves another person.

We grew up together, the sort of instant friends that can only be produced by the maternal scheming that is putting two toddlers in the same room and simply standing back. He was a little younger, finer of feature and lither of body than myself, but by the age of four had very much perfected stomping his foot and telling me that as my prince he commanded me to take charge and think of a game. Over the years, it very much became a regular event around the palace to see Prince George demand I do something that I either already wanted to do or quite possibly was already doing at the time.

I was twelve when he first ordered me to kiss him.

Through the years that followed, I remained by his side during every high and low, from his father's death to his coronation I was always there, his most faithful subject.

I'd always known he would marry and produce an heir one day. It was just one of those realities of the court that come as natural as breathing to those who have grown up around it. I'd never had any delusions of having the man and King I was so devoted to for myself in any capacity. Still, when it was announced that some stranger would soon arrive and marry him immediately, sight-unseen, I reacted... poorly.

By "poorly", I mean that I donned my officer's uniform and sailed across the ocean to fight in a war that until then had been more of a persistent headache than a full-blown emergency to me.

Perhaps I thought it a grand romantic gesture, perhaps I was just being a petulant child. I honestly don't remember what I was thinking, if I had been thinking at all. All I remember from my goodbye was the widening of those bright blue eyes in abject terror as I informed him of my decision, the vice grip of his hand on my arm after he'd chased me down halfway out of the palace in a less than regal fashion when the initial shock had worn off, the spittle that flew in my face as he called me a fool and much worse... and then that eerie stillness I'd sometimes witnessed come over him when everything became quite too much. His grip relaxed and he, quite devoid of emotion, ordered me to go.

So, I went.

It's amazing what a year knee-deep in blood and mud does for one's perspective. I found my court-educated officer's training to be less helpful than I'd imagined once the reality of warfare on this continent settled in. Perhaps it had been the reality everywhere, all along, and I had simply never been close enough to see it. Even then, it took the news of a newly born prince to shake me enough to petition my return. I had missed my King every moment of every day, but the thought of not being with him on so momentous an occasion in his life shook me to my core and finally brought me back to my up until then rather lacking senses.

The relief I felt upon my request being granted bordered on the shameful, because I knew who it was doing the granting.

Which brings me to today.

I have been standing on the ship's forecastle deck ever since England came into view, my white-knuckled fingers clutching the wood just to ground myself. I feel my knees nearly give way as I step back when we finally come into harbour. I hadn't been certain what kind of reception to expect, but the very sight of the unmistakable carriage temporarily turns me back into that youth who'd torn around the palace grounds all those years ago as I vault over, duck under, and weave in between anything separating me from it.

Imagine my surprise when I find it empty.

Wrong as it felt to climb in alone, it had been sent for me and I was not one to turn down this gift. Ill at ease, I shift in my seat, familiar scents washing over me as the lush upholstery is disturbed by my movement. For what seems but a moment, memories of very different occasions where I'd been permitted to ride in this particular carriage draw across my mind's eye. I certainly hadn't been alone then.

I am shaken out of my reverie when the carriage door opens. As I hop out, I notice a fellow courtier waiting by the door and attempt to greet her, but she merely shoves an oblong parcel into my arms. "His Majesty expects you in his rooms. Take off your coat and hat, freshen up, and wear this."

She walks off as soon as I hand her my clothes, but I soon forget about my strange reception as I removed the box' lid and find a different uniform entirely staring back up at me. It’s a uniform I know well; I've spent the better part of the past year organising the death of men wearing it. It would seem forgiveness was not quite as readily won as had first appeared, but I would do anything for my King. Even if it did mean donning a traitor's uniform. I do note, with vague satisfaction, that it is at least still an officer’s uniform. You sometimes have to take your victories where you can, however small.

The familiar halls and stairways are devoid of a single living soul as I march my blue-clad way through. It feels unnatural, to say the least. A palace is a lot of things, but never quiet or empty. There was always a baseline of activity, to the point where servants going about their tasks were so commonplace that you paid them little more mind than you did the actual furniture. I try to take comfort in the elaborateness of this particular torture, as it would have been an awful lot of trouble to go through, even or perhaps especially for a reigning monarch, only to spurn me.

Then again, I must have hurt him an awful lot as well.

That single terrible thought causes my hand to waver, just as I had raised it to knock upon the chamber door. It matters little, because the prim "Enter!" that follows the absence of my knocking causes my heart to swell and my stomach to drop at the same time. Still, I force myself to open the door and step inside. My lungs join their stricken brethren as the air is knocked out of me as soon as we are once again truly in the same room. I stand rooted to the spot as he, infuriatingly, simply sits at his desk, his eyes decidedly fixed on an agricultural report in front of him. He looks resplendent in his wonderfully rich red suit, one I am certain he had not possessed prior to my leaving, even if a fair amount of it is hidden under his royal mantle. Curiously, the state crown is perched on top of his head. It seems that no effort is to be spared in... whatever this is.

I suddenly catch myself staring and swallow a few times before years of training kick in and I find myself sweeping into a well-practiced low bow. "You wished to see me, Your Majesty?"

Not quite certain whether or not to straighten up just yet, I first glance up from under my brow only to be met by that piercing blue gaze far closer than anticipated. I'd never expected him to move so fast, certainly not in full regalia, but he has somehow managed to cross the room with cat-like grace and I feel the spikes of his sceptre dig in underneath my chin as he slowly, deliberately, forces me upright.

"Your majesty indeed, my errant subject."

For a moment, I want to object. Something trite like insisting that I had been out there fighting for him, or perhaps worse lies of self-sacrifice, but a single look into his eyes silences me. I had run out on him when he'd needed me, gone off halfway across the world on a perceived slight that had not only been a long time coming, but had been completely inevitable for us both. It didn't matter what I considered myself to have suffered, whatever penance he'd bestow upon me would be a reparation I'd gladly make in order to once again take a first step towards being worthy of his love and trust.

He knows me well enough to read me and softens slightly. "You've come back."

"I apologise for ever leaving, Your Majesty," I whisper, which a small tilt of his head tells me is not quite good enough. "I am sorry I left," I repeat, more firmly. "Please, sire, forgive me."

This warrants a raised eyebrow. "Forgive you?"

He circles me, I feel his sceptre trail lightly across my shoulders and back as he does so, taking me in. It makes me wish I'd had more time to prepare for this reunion, his scrutiny makes me feel wholly inadequate.

"Go into the bedroom and kneel down with your back to the bed," he commands smoothly, "and we'll see whether you can be forgiven."

My body obeys before my mind gets a chance to react and all I manage is a quick: "Of course, sire." before I find myself moving to the familiar room with practised ease, feeling his eyes on me the whole time.

As soon as my knees hit the carpet, the lavish four-poster to my back, I realise that my present position is in fact entirely for my own benefit. There are a few beats of seemingly endless waiting before I am treated to the sight of my King sauntering towards me, his mantle slowly dropping from his shoulders as he releases the front bow and clasps. He has always known how to make an entrance and this one leaves me breathless. I know I'm staring and I can sense him delighting in it in spite of himself. 

A swift prod of the sceptre to my sternum, hard enough to make me gasp, brings me firmly back to reality. A delicate, yet forceful hand is suddenly wound tight in my hair and wrenches my head back up from where I'd reflexively lowered it and the sight draws another gasp from my lips for my King is truly a thing of beauty. His eyes bore down into mine, searching and demanding at the same time. There is a core of naked want in there, but I know this magnificent man in front of me has had a lifetime of practice when it comes to eschewing immediate desire for that which must be done. I gulp. "Your Majesty?"

"Complete and utter unwavering devotion." His enunciation is precise and his eyes never leave mine. I get the distinct feeling that he's rehearsed this. "That's the price of my love. Is that a price that you're willing to pay?"

I go to nod, but all my eagerness is only rewarded by a sharp tugging pain that remind me that his fist is still lodged firmly in my hair. "Yes, Your Majesty!"

He searches my face, seemingly looking for a lie. Then, finally, he smiles. That slow, cat-like smile that brings a shiver to my spine to finally witness again. "You are mine?"

"Entirely, Your Majesty."

He leans down and the kiss that is my reward for that statement is perhaps the sweetest thing I've ever tasted, though his lips linger upon mine for mere moments before he rights himself once more. He releases his grip on my hair and for a few seconds I forget myself, reaching up eagerly to undo his breeches, but the sight of my own blue sleeves snaps me back into focus.

A tut and a short laugh draw my gaze up and it must have been a pitifully begging one indeed for he nods at me. "Oh, go on then."

Having both dressed and undressed my King many times, I make short work of his shoes, stockings, garters, breeches, and undergarments despite my valiant attempts to show deference at every step. Fortunately, I am soon faced with undeniable evidence of his own eagerness and lick my lips in anticipation as I look up for permission. "May I?"

He smiles, this time reaching down to touch my cheek with far more gentleness than before. "You may, but slowly."

I take his erection in my hand and guide him to my lips, smiling up at him as I first kiss, then lick the tip. I cannot help but admire that he's still wearing the crown, heavy and restricting as it may be, and keep looking up as I slowly draw him further into my mouth, relishing the sight of his face contorted in pleasure. I take my time to reacquaint myself with every last inch of him, sliding my tongue over hot, silky smooth flesh while my hands tend to those parts my lips cannot reach. I have thought about this man every day and night for a year and yet I cannot help but feel that my memories sold him short. The very taste of him is divine. I could happily spend forever and a day like this, listening to his delighted little moans and mews as my tongue and lips dance across his heated flesh. Still, it is not to be for before the pleasure gets quite too overwhelming. I feel his hands upon my shoulders, easing me back and off him.

I look up, licking my lips, the tip of my tongue seeking out any precious fluid that may have escaped me as I drink in the very sight of his flustered countenance. Sooner than expected, he snaps back into complete and utter focus. "Get on the bed. On your back. Keep the coat on."

The grin that splits across my face as I reply: "Yes, Your Majesty!" is certainly impertinent enough to earn further reprisal, but for the moment he seems content to let it pass as we both hasten to divest ourselves of both our own and each other's remaining clothing.

As I reach for the crown, he stays my hands. "No, no... I'll be keeping that." I know better than to argue, instead slipping the traitorous blue coat back over my now bare shoulders before getting into position on the bed.

I watch with mounting anticipation as he joins me on the bed and settles in between my legs, his lust-darkened gaze sweeping over my body, drinking in my presence just as I am revelling in his. He makes a few false starts towards me before he finally gives in and unceremoniously plonks the priceless crown down on the bed beside me. "I'll get back to that." 

My laugh turns into a groan midway through as he swallows down near enough all of me in one go, leaving me to clutch at the sheets as I am enraptured by pleasure so sudden it borders on agony. Even though I can hear light gagging noises, he shows no sign of slowing down until he has me as hard and wet as I can possibly be. He rises back up on his knees, smiling down at me with such smugness that a sudden surge of affection sweeps through me I cannot help but sit up and kiss him deeply. 

For a long moment, we stay just like that. Arms slipping around one another as they had so many times before, relishing the closeness and intimacy my stupidity had deprived us of for so long. He seems to realise it at the same moment I do and shoves me against my chest, possibly with more vigour than strictly required, so my back drops against the luscious sheets once more. It is at this point that he remembers his plan and I watch, enraptured, as he once again places the crown upon his head before moving into position. As he hovers over me, I suddenly find myself gripped by fear of hurting him in spite of my own eagerness. After all, we discovered a long time ago that mere spit and good intentions only got you so far. 

My King can read me like a book, and he laughs triumphantly. "I appreciate your care, my love... but I did know you were coming."

Suddenly, I am inside him. Driven by desire I move to thrust up, but he clutches a handful of my chest hair and forces me to sit up slightly, just so that I cannot exert force either way. My wide-eyed look of indignancy is received with another one of those infuriatingly smug smiles. "Tut-tut. You forget yourself. Who is in charge here?"

I cannot help but smile and relax. "You are, Your Majesty."

"Very good. Don't you forget it." He kisses me at the same time as he begins to ride me. The slow and steady roll of his hips has me helplessly moaning and groaning into his mouth as I bring the one arm that I do not require to support myself up to caress any part of him that I can touch. Sensing that I have truly given up any attempt at taking control, he releases his grip on my chest hair in favour of stroking and massaging my shoulders. Emboldened, I begin to raise up only enough to match his movement, which is received with an approving little hum.

He takes his time and I am more than content to let him take forever if he wishes, but finally he pulls back and rests his forehead against mine, a little awkwardly because of the crown. "I trust that I have made my point?"

I smile and try to nod, but am too fearful of damaging the precious artifact currently balanced so precariously between us. "Yes, sire."

Clearly less bothered by such worries than I am, George dismounts and all but throws his crown aside. "Good. Now take off that filthy garment and fuck me. Your King commands it."

"Yes, sire!" I rush to my knees, struggling out of the blue coat as he sinks down onto his elbows and arches his back. I kiss and lick along his spine as I move into position, eliciting the most delicious of moans as I push back inside him. I grasp him firmly by the hip with one hand as I slide the other underneath to stroke him in rhythm with my increasingly furious pumping hips. He maintains control, in a fashion, urging me to take him harder, faster, deeper. Then, as I feel the point of no return approaching, just as I lean over him, my hand sliding from his hip over to his chest, he commands me once more: "Halt."

With not inconsiderable effort, I fall still, gasping pitifully into the crook of his neck as I rest my cheek on his shoulder. He takes a moment, then extracts himself from me and rolls onto his back under me. He spreads and raises his legs as I look at him like a starving man presented with a banquet. Again, that insufferably self-satisfied smirk as he runs a finger down the centre of my chest, across my abdomen. His eyes lock with mine as he grasps my manhood and guides me back in place. "Now... you may continue."

"With pleasure, Your Majesty," I grind out from between clenched teeth as I envelop myself in his heat once more. I do not bother to quell the urge to kiss that look right off his face and he doesn't seem to mind, receiving me with eagerness in every respect. I feel his hands clutch at my back, buttocks, and shoulders as he draws me closer to him. It doesn't take much longer before I feel his entire body first tense up and then shudder. He says something I do not quite catch as, a few thrusts later, I join him in the utmost pleasure. For a few heartbeats the world goes dark until there's only the sensation of the two of us. A rawness in my throat makes me suspect that I, too, have cried out something I did not quite catch. Whatever it was must have been good, because my lover is looking very satisfied indeed.

After a few long moments I pull back and settle on my elbows over him, simultaneously desiring to make him comfortable and unwilling to give up our current position entirely. He reaches up and strokes my face, drawing me in for another kiss. "I'm glad you came back."

"So am I... and I truly am sorry." It feels important to repeat that, now that the game is over.

"You're forgiven. Now, let's never speak of it again." He pushes against my shoulder and curls himself against and over me as soon as I settle onto my back.

"Yes, sire," I reply firmly. Then, softer: "George?"

He half-raises his head to look at me. I smile, still feeling a little vulnerable. "I love you."

An arrogant scoff. "I know." Then, more gently: "I love you too."


End file.
